Poirot's Early Cases hp-38 Read online

  His face is burnt in on my brain.'

  'Just one more question, mademoiselle. The curtains of the other window, the one giving on the drive, were they drawn?'

  For the first time a puzzled expression crept over the dancer's face. She seemed to be trying to remember.

  'Eh bien, mademoiselle?'

  'I think - I am almost sure - yes, quite sure! They were not drawn.'

  'That is curious, since the other ones were. No matter. It is, I dare say, of no great importance. You are remaining here long, mademoiselle?'

  'The doctor thinks I shall be fit to return to town tomorrow.' She looked round the room. Miss Oglander had gone out. 'Thee people, they are very kind - but they are not of my world. I 8hock them! And to me - well, I am not fond of the bourgeoisiel'

  A faint note of bitterness underlay her words.

  Poirot nodded. 'I understand. I hope I have not fatigued you unduly with my questions?'

  'Not at all, monsieur. I am only too anxious Paul should know all as soon as possible.'

  'Then I will wish you good day, mademoiselle.'

  As Poirot was leaving the room, he paused, and pounced on a pair of patent-leather slippers. 'Yours, mademoiselle?'

  'Yes, monsieur. They have just been cleaned and brought up.' 'Ah!' said Poirot, as we descended the stairs. 'It seems that the domestics are not too excited to clean shoes, though they forget a grate. Well, rnon ami, at first there appeared to be one or two points of interest, but I fear, I very much fear, that we must regard the case as finished. It all seems straightforward enouth.' 'And the murderer?' 'Hercule Poirot does not hunt down tramps,' replied my fried grandiloquently.

  Miss Oglander met us in the hall. 'If you will wait in the drawig-room a minute, Mamma would like to speak to you.' The room was still untouched, and Poirot idly gathered upthe cards, shuffling them with his tiny, fastidiously groomed han amp; 'Do you know. what I think, my friend?' 'No?' I said eagerly.

  'I think that Miss Oglander made a mistake in going one ao trump. She should have gone three spades.' 'Poirott You are the limit.' 'Mon Dieu, I cannot always be talking blood and thunderl' Suddenly he stiffenet: 'Hastings - Hastings. Seel The king of clubs is missing from the pack]' 'garal' I cried.

  'Eh?' He did not seem to understand my allusion. Mechanically he stacked the cards and put them away in their cases. His face was very grave.

  'Hastings,' he said at last, 'I, Hercule Poirot, have come near to making a big mistake - a very big mistake.' I gazed at him, impressed, but utterly uncomprehending.

  'We must begin again, Hastings. Yes, we must begin again.

  But this time we shall not err.' He was interrupted by the entrance of a handsome middle-aged lady. She carried some household books in her hand. P0irot bowed to her.

  'Do I understand, sir, that you are a friend of - er -8aintdair's?' 'I come from a friend of hers, madame.' 'Oh, I see. I thought perhaps - ' Poirot suddenly waved brusquely at the window.

  'Your blinds were not pulled down last night?' 'No - I suppose that is why Miss Saintclair saw the light plainly.'

  'There was moonlight last night. I wonder that you did not see Mademoiselle Saintclair from your seat here facing the windows?'

  'I suppose we were engrossed with our game. Nothing like this has ever happened before to us.'

  'I can quite believe that, madame. And I will put your mind at rest. Mademoiselle Saintclair is leaving tomorrow.'

  'Oh!' The good lady's face cleared.

  'And I will wish you good morning, madame.'

  A servant was cleaning the steps as we went out of the front door. Poirot addressed her.

  'Was it you who cleaned the shoes of the young lady upstairs?'

  The maid shook her head. 'No, sir. I don't think they've been cleaned.'

  'Who cleaned them, then?' I inquired of Poirot, as we walked down the road.

  'Nobody. They did not need cleaning.'

  'I grant that walking on the road or path on a fine night would not soil them. But surely after going through the long grass of the garden, they would have been soiled and stained.'

  'Yes,' said Poirot with a curi(us smile. 'In that case, I agree, they would have been stained.'

  'But - '

  'Have patience a little half-hour, my friend. We are going back to Mon Dsir.'

  The butler looked surprised at our reappearance, but offered no objection to our returning to the library.

  'Hi, that's the wrong window, Poirot,' I cried as he made for the one overlooking the carriage-drive.

  'I think not, my friend. See here.' He pointed to the marble lion's head. On it was a faint discoloured smear. He shifted his finger and pointed to a similar stain on the polished floor.

  'Some one struck Reedburn a blow with his clenched fist between the eyes. He fell backward on this projecting bit of marble, then slipped to the floor. Afterwards, he was dragged across the floor to the other window, and laid there instead, but not quite at the same angle, as the Doctor's evidence told us.'

  'But why? It seems utterly unnecessary.' 'On the contrary, it was essential. Also, it is the key to the murderer's identity - though, by the way, he had no intention of killing Reedburn, and so it is hardly permissible to call him a murderer. He must be a very strong manl' 'Because of having dragged the body across the floor?' 'Not altogether. It has been an interesting case. I nearly made an imbecile of myself, though.' 'Do you mean to say it is over, that you know everything?' 'Yes.' A remembrance smote me. 'No,' I cried. 'There is one thing you do not know!' 'And that?' 'You do not know where the missing king of clubs isl' 'Eh? Oh, that is droll! That is very droll, my friend.' 'Why?' 'Because it is in my pocketl' He drew it forth with a flourish.

  'Ohl' I said, rather crestfallen. 'Where did you find it?

  Here?' 'There was nothing sensational about it. It had simply not been taken out with the other cards. It was in the box.' 'H'm All the same, it gave you an idea, didn't it?' 'Yes, my friend. I present my respects to His Majesty.' 'And to Madame Zaral' 'Ah, yes - to the lady also.' 'Well, what are we going to do now?' 'We are going to return to town. But I must have a few words with a certain lady at Daisymead first.' The same little maid opened the door to us.

  'They're all at lunch now, sir - unless it's Miss $aintclair you want to see, and she's resting.' 'It will do if I can see Mrs Oglander for a few minutes. Will you tell her?' We were led into the drawing-room to wait. I had a glimpse of the family in the dining-room as we passed, now reinforced by the presence of two heavy, solid-looking men, one with a moustache, the other with a beard also.

  In a few minutes Mrs Oglander came into the room, looking inquiringly at Poirot, who bowed.

  'Madame, we, in our country, have a great tenderness, a great respect for the mother. The mi, re defamille, she is everything!' Mrs Oglander looked rather astonished at this opening.

  'It is for that reason that I have come - to allay a mother's anxiety. The murderer of Mr Reedburn will not be discovered.

  Have no fear. I, Hercule Poirot, tell you so. I am right, am I not?

  Or is it a wife that I must reassure?'

  There was a moment's pause. Mrs Oglander seemed searching Poirot with her eyes. At last she said quietly: 'I don't know how you know - but yes, you are right.'

  Poirot nodded gravely. 'That is all, madame. But do not be uneasy. Your English policemen have not the eyes of Hercule Poirot.' He tapped the family portrait on the wall with his finger-nail.

  'You had another daughter once. She is dead, madame?'

  Again there was a pause, as she searched him with her eyes.

  Then she answered: 'Yes, she is dead.'

  'Ahl' said Poirot briskly. 'Well, we must return to town. You permit that I return the king of clubs to the pack? It was your only slip. You understand, to have played bridge for an hour or so, with only fifty-one cards - well, no one who knows anything of the game would credit it for a minute! Bonjourl'

  'find now, my friend,' said Poirot as we stepped towards the stat
ion, 'you see it all?

  'I see nothing! Who killed Reedburn?'

  'John Oglander, Junior. I was not quite sure if it was the father or the son, but I fixed on the son as being the stronger and younger of the two. It had to be one of them, because of the win-dow.'

  'Why?'

  'There were four exits from the library - two doors, two win-dows; but evidently only one would do. Three exits gave on the front, directly or indirectly. The tragedy had to occur in the back window in order to make it appear that Valerie Saintclair came to Daisymead by chance. Really, of course, she fainted, and John

  Oglander carried her across over his shoulders. That is why I said he must be a strong man.' 'Did they go there together, then?' 'Yes. You remember Valerie's hesitation when I asked her if she was not afraid to go alone? John Oglander went with her which didn't improve Reedburn's temper, I fancy. They quarrelled, and it was probably some insult levelled at?alerie that made Oglander hit him. The rest, you know.' 'But why the bridge?' 'Bridge presupposes four players. A simple thing like that carries a lot of conviction. Who would have supposed that there had been only three people in that room all the evening?' I was still puzzled.

  'There's one thing I don't understand. What have the Oglanders to do with the dancer Valerie Saintclair?' 'Ah, that I wonder you did not see. And yet you looked long enough at that picture on the wall - longer than I did. Mrs Oglander's other daughter may be dead to her family, but the world knows her as Valerie Saintclairl' 'What?' 'Did you not see the resemblance the moment you saw the two sisters together?' 'No,' I confessed. 'I only thought how extraordinarily dissimilar they were.' 'That is because your mind is so open to external romantic impressions, my dear Hastings. The features are almost identical.

  $o is the colouring. The interesting thing is that?alerie is ashamed of her family, and her family is ashamed of her. Nevertheless, in a moment of peril, she turned to her brother for help, and when things went wrong, they all hung together in a remarkable way.

  Family strength is a marvellous thing. They can all act, that family. That is where Valerie gets her histrionic talent from. I, like Prince Paul, believe in heredityl They deceived rnel But for a lucky accident, and test question to Mrs Oglander by which I got her to contradict her daughter's account of how they were sitting, the Oglander family would have put a defeat on Hercule Poirot.' 'What shall you tell the Prince?'

  'That Valerie could not possibly have committed the crime, and that I doubt if that tramp will ever be found. Also, to convey my compliments to Zara. A curious coincidence, thatl I think I shall call this little affair the Adventure of the King of Clubs.

  What do you think, my friend?'

  Chapter VII. The Lemesurier Inheritance

  In company with Poirot, I have investigated many strange eases, but none, I think, to compare with that extraordinary series of events which held our interest over a period of many years, and which culminated in the ultimate problem brought to Poirot to solve. Our attention was first drawn to the family history of the Lemesuriers one evening during the war. Poirot and I had but recently come together again, renewing the old days of our acquaintanceship in Belgium. He had been handling some little matter for the War Office - disposing of it to their entire satisfac-tion; and we had been dining at the Carlton with a Brass Hat who paid Poirot heavy compliments in the intervals of the meal. The Brass Hat had to rush away to keep an appointment with someone, and we finished our coffee in a leisurely fashion before following his example.

  As we were leaving the room, I was hailed by a voice which struck a familiar note, and turned to see Captain Vincent Lemesurier, a young fellow whom I had known in France. He was with an older man whose likeness to him proclaimed him to be of the same family. Such proved to be the case, and he was introduced to us as Mr Hugo Lemesurier, uncle of my young friend.

  I did not really know Captain Lemesurier at all intimately, but he was a pleasant young fellow, somewhat dreamy in manner, and I remembered hearing that he belonged to an old and exclusive family with a property in Northumberland which dated from before the Reformation. Poirot and I were not in a hurry, and at the younger man's invitation, we sat down at the table with our two new-found friends, and chattered pleasantly enough on various matters. The elder Lemesurier was a man of about forty, with a touch of the scholar in his stooping shoulders; he was engaged at the moment upon some chemical research work for the Government, it appeared.

  Our conversation was interrupted by a tall dark young man who strode up to the table, evidently labouring under some agitation Of mind.

  'Thank goodness I've found you bothl' he exclaimed.

  'What's the matter, Roger?' 'Your guv'nor, Vincent. Bad fall. Young horse.' The rest trailed off, as he drew the other aside.

  In a few minutes our two friends had hurriedly taken leave of us. Vincent Lemesurier's father had had a serious accident while trying a young horse, and was not expected to live until morning.

  Vincent had gone deadly white, and appeared almost stunned by the news. In a way, I was surprised - for from the few words he had let fall on the subject while in France, I had gathered that he and his father were not on particularly friendly terms, and so his display of filial feeling now rather astonished me.

  The dark young man, who had been introduced to us as a cousin, Mr Roger Lemesurier, remained behind, and we three strolled out together.

  'Rather a curious business, this,' observed the young man. 'It would interest M. Poirot, perhaps. I've heard of you, you know, M. Poirot - from Higginson.' (Higginson was our Brass Hat friend.) 'He says you're a whale on psychology.' 'I study the psychology, yes,' admitted my friend cautiously.

  'Did you see my cousin's face? He was absolutely bowled over, wasn't he? Do you know why? A good old-fashioned family cursel Would you care to hear about it?' 'It would be most kind of you to recount it to me.' Roger Lemesurier looked at his watch.

  'Lots of time. I'm meeting them at King's Cross. Well, M.

  Poirot, the Lemesuriers are an old family. Way back in medieval times, a Lemesurier became suspicious of his wife. He found the lady in a compromising situation. She swore that she was innocent, but old Baron Hugo didn't listen. She had one child, a son - and he swore that the boy was no child of his and should never inherit.

  I forget what he did - some pleasing medieval fancy like walling

  up the mother and son alive; anyway, he killed them both, and she died protesting her innocence and solemnly cursing the Lemesuriers forever. No first-born son of a Lemesurier should ever inherit - so the curse ran. Well, time passed, and the lady's innocence was established beyond doubt. I believe that Hugo wore a hair shirt and ended up his days on his knees in a monk's cell. But the curious thing is that from that day to this, no firstborn son ever has succeeded to the estate. It's gone to brothers, to nephews, to second sons - never to the eldest born. Vincent's father was the second of five sons, the eldest of whom died in infancy. Of course, all through the war, Vincent has been convinced that whoever else was doomed, he certainly was. But strangely enough, his two younger brothers have been killed, and he himself has remained unscathed.' 'An interesting family history,' said Poirot thoughtfully. 'But now his father is dying, and he, as the eldest son, succeeds?' 'Exactly. A curse has gone rusty - unable to stand the strain of modern life.' Poirot shook his head, as though deprecating the other's jesting tone. Roger Lemesurier looked at his watch again, and declared that he must be off.

  The sequel to the story came on the morrow, when we learned of the tragic death of Captain Vincent Lemesurier. He had been travelling north by the Scotch mail-train, and during the night must have opened the door of the compartment and jumped out on the line. The shock of his father's accident coming on top of shell-shock was deemed to have caused temporary mental aberration.

  The curious superstition prevalent in the Lemesurier family was mentioned, in connection with the new heir, his father's brother, Ronald Lemesurier, whose only son had died on the Somme.

  I supp
ose our accidental meeting with young Vincent on the last evening of his life quickened our interest in anything that pertained to the Lemesurier family, for we noted with some interest two years later the death of Ronald Lemesurier, who had been a confirmed invalid at the time of his succession to the family estates. His brother John succeeded him, a, a hale, hearty man with a boy at Eton.

  Certainly an evil destiny overadowedt,ed the Lemesuriers. On hi very next holiday the boy managed to to shoot himself fatally.

  Hia father's death, which occurred quite iite suddenly after being stung by a wasp, gave the estate over to tl 0 the youngest brother of the five - Hugo, whom we remembered me,neeting on the fatal night at the Carlton.

  Beyond commenting on the extraordinary, nary series of misfortunes which befell the Lemesuriers, we had takeaken no personal interest in the matter, but the time was now close:se at hand when we were to take a more active part.

  One morning 'Mrs Lemesurier' was annos0nounced. She was a tall, active woman, possibly about thirty years qjrs of age, who conveyed by her demeanour a great deal of dete:etermination and strong common sense. She spoke with a faint tranansatlantic accent.

  'M. Poirot? I am pleased to meet youvou' My husband, Hugo Lemesurier, met you once many years age, ago, but you will hardly remember the fact.' 'I recollect it perfectly, madame. It was as at the Carlton.' 'That's quite wonderful of you. NI. Poir.,oirot, I'm very worried.' 'What about, madame?' 'My elder boy - I've two boys, you kno-now' Ronald's eight, and Gerald's six.' 'Proceed, madame: why shouId you bd be worried about little Ronald?' 'M. Poirot, within the last six months he he has had three narrow escapes from death: once from drowning - v, - when we were all down at Cornwall this summer; once when he::he fell from the nursery window; and once from ptomaine poisoninlaing., Perhaps Poirot's face expressed rather to too eloquently what he thought, for Mrs Lemesurier hurried on wi with hardly a moment's pause: 'Of course I know you think I'm just gst a silly fool of a woman, making mountains out of molehills.' 'No, indeed, madame. Any mother mighight be excused for being upset at such occurrences, but I hardly see 'ee where I can be of any